Life with Smoke and Mirrors
by DXRULES103
Summary: Death falls to those who call... Their life called for death each and every day. It was an inevitable outcome. It just depended on how. [OneShot] This is the first part of my Michael Stone and James Bond series. Review if you wish!


**Disclaimers**: I do not own James Bond and I never will.

**A/N**: This is my first James Bond fic even though he isn't exactly in this story. He's only mentioned.

The stars were small. They were cut by men who knew nothing else do. The stars were symbols. They were symbols of those who are long gone.

He touched the stars as he smiled sadly. He touched them one by one; letting his fingers linger on each.

It has been ten years since he first entered the world that his superiors called the wilderness of mirrors. But that was only partly true. He knew better. He knew that the world his job occupied was not a wilderness of just mirrors; it was a wilderness of _smoke _and mirrors.

"Smoke and mirrors," he repeated aloud.

In the life like his, one cannot fully know what truth is and what a lie is. Everything was connected and yet not. In order to find what you are looking for you must not look for it. It always comes to you; either by chance or fate. It doesn't matter how you could are in adapting the game- no, the life changes and you can't stop that. He knew very well that no one could stop it.

He knew the names of everyone. He knew which had which star. He knew the men and women who died to become those stars. They lived a life of navigating through the wilderness of smoke and mirrors. They lived a life that he leads.

His mind crossed to the others; the others who were his fellow brethren. They too lived in his world. His brethren, many from other parts of the world, knew much. It was in their right to know. They too had their versions of his stars. They too had lost what he lost.

There was Stephen Alistair. He was an Israeli whom he befriended five years ago. Stephen was a part of the elite MOSSAD. He was, of course, Jewish but that didn't mean anything to him. Alistair was still a friend, no matter how badly tempered the man could be.

"God is with you," he joked. But there was no humor in his eyes. He knew all too well that Stephen could become one of them; one of the stars.

His mind switched from the Israeli officer to Elise Devonioux, the French Canadian operative who had the stealth of a true feline. Her stealth made her an excellent assassin. And yet she too was prone to injuries. He remembered the day when she was shot point blank in the chest. It was a miracle or pure luck that she survived.

"Death falls to those you call," he recited. It was from a poem. He didn't know he wrote it but it spoke to both him and Elise. Their life called for death each and every day. It was an inevitable outcome. It just depended on how.

Lastly his thoughts fell to the famous Double-ohh-seven. He was England's most loyal servant; its finest spy. He knew what the man was capable of. He's seen it although sadly, not in person. The man is known as James Bond. He has met him but he has heard enough. He's heard personal accounts and secondary rumors. Each had their own truths; each had their own lie.

These three are among many he knows he lived in the life lives. They were their countries greatest. They worked for their country, lived for their country, and like many others, would die for their country.

It was in this life that one could not know what will happen next. What new enemy would you? What empire would you topple down? What new name would you sink into?

It was a sad thought. But he had no regrets. He was chosen to live that life. He chose to accept. He had no regrets. He could not let sadness overwhelm him. He had other things that outweighed it.

He had his ambition, his sense of competition, and his loyalty to Uncle Sam.

He pulled his hand away from the stars. He could no longer dwell in the past.

"I, who have nothing," he silently said to himself. He laughed slightly and spoke aloud, "I, who have nothing, am invincible to everything."

_"Do you want to accept this assignment?" Mother had asked._

Michael Stone smiled. There was actually something good at living his life. He had fun. Sure, things were dangerous and bleak to ever think about it but he knew he always had it.

There was something good at being the best that the Central Intelligence Agency ever had.

It meant that he got to choose. He got to control.

"And with it, freedom comes to me."


End file.
